Halfway There
by Erythros
Summary: Draco Malfoy pressed his lips against Hermione Granger, and this time, she wanted to know why. DHr. EWE.
1. Chapter 1

**Halfway There**

by Erythros

He kissed her once, in sixth year.

Nobody knew, but he had pressed his lips upon hers in an empty classroom, and she had closed her eyes and let him.

Why she let him, she somehow knew: she'd caught Ron snogging Lavender a few hours ago, _again_, and it _hurt_. She was seventeen, for heaven's sake, and she'd run to the nearest classroom and cried her stupid heart out for sodding, stupid, clueless Ron.

Why he _did_, though, she didn't know, even until the present. Perhaps it had been the strain of his mission; perhaps he'd broken under the pressure. She _really _didn't know. All she remembered were her words slipping from her mouth, where she somehow admitted to _him_, of all people, how she wished she was a prettier girl, and how he'd said the nicest thing he'd ever, _ever _told her.

_I'm only saying this as a fact, Granger, so don't let it get into your head. But you're far better-looking than that Brown girl. _

And she hadn't known it was coming because all too soon his hands were at the base of her neck, and he had leant in and kissed her.

And for a boy who'd had only scornful words for her, this cowardly, proud boy, his kiss had been surprisingly soft. He had stood before her while she'd sat on the professor's table, her fingers clutching at his robes. He'd kissed her like he fancied her, and for a second she could believe he almost did, and he'd tasted like peppermint, and, slowly, she found herself leaning further in, stupid Ron had been momentarily forgotten, and then-

He was gone.

And she'd forgotten about that little incident in the midst of everything going on in the world then, that teeny memory she couldn't fathom, couldn't deem good or bad... until now.

Because seven years later, after _that _strange incident, he was at it again.

Draco Malfoy pressed his lips against Hermione Granger, and this time, she wanted to know why.

**To be continued.**

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**Author's Note:** AHHHH. I'm really only writing, _again_, to see if I've still got it. That, and for the past month, I've been going around and reading old stuff that never fail to make me feel giddy for the best ship ever. Let's see where this goes, yeah? I've always, always wanted to write an empty-classroom kiss. :D As for the title, it's taken from Maroon Five's _Love Somebody_. This prologue's a bit too short for anyone to review it, but ah, well. Review? Here's to writing!


	2. Chapter 2

**Halfway There**

**Chapter Two**

by Erythros

Peppermint.

He tasted like peppermint, just like the last time.

And just like last time, he'd caught her off-guard. Again.

His lips moved over hers slowly, sensually, and her eyes fluttered shut as a wave of tingles ran all the way from where his fingers touched her skin to the tips of her toes. Her hands found their way to his wrists, and while she knew she'd placed them there to pry him off her, seconds after she was really just holding on, letting him.

Kiss her.

Again.

Oh, goodness. Had it been this _wonderful_ the last time too?

Ron most certainly never kissed the way Draco Malfoy did, _that _was for sure. Ron was all haste and fumbling hands and clumsy lips crashing onto hers; Malfoy, on the other hand, was the opposite. The _good _kind of opposite. He took his time. He fitted his lips easily with hers, deliberately, knowingly. He placed his hands on each side of her neck, his thumbs lightly splayed across her cheeks, then inching their way through her hair.

And when he finally, almost with reluctance, pulled away, _she _felt shy. _Painfully_ shy when she was supposed to feel indignant and wronged. He gazed at her, gray eyes alight with—with _something _she couldn't quite place, and for the life of her, she felt her cheeks burn and her lips tingle with the memory of his kiss.

How was it that she couldn't look straight at this boy who, in the previous minute, had violated her personal space and was making her feel... _fluttery _now?

Eventually her eyes found his, and while she _knew _that the right thing to do was slap him right now for what just happened, she couldn't. Heaven help her, she was at a loss for words as he threaded his fingers through a loose curl and eyed her lip thoughtfully. Was it just the trick of the light, or did he seem to _want _to lean over and kiss her again? Her heart was racing.

But then there was a loud yelp of laughter behind them and Hermione remembered, with a jolt and two steps back, that they were in a rather public place. The Three Broomsticks, in fact, where, apparently, some of her Slytherin classmates were having a small get-together. She could see Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle. Nott's lip was curled in distaste as he drank from his glass; Zabini and Goyle were shaking in laughter. Her eyes traveled then to the boy standing a foot away from her, and there it still was—the unreadable look she couldn't quite place, his lips a thin line, neither twisted in a scowl or a sneer. His lips—

His lips.

She was staring at his lips.

And he was staring right back.

There was a rush of blood to her face, a fierce pumping through her veins, a different sort of beat that rang unpleasantly throughout her body. Something clicked. For shame, for _shame_! This was all a bloody practical joke, wasn't it? What in Merlin's bloody name was going on?

Then—

"Apologies, Granger. This," and he motioned his hand in the space between them, "was a dare."

"A dare."

_An effing, sodding dare. _

Right.

One minute she was momentarily fazed by his kiss, and in the next, mortified and horribly red, she took two steps towards him, regaining their previous closeness and slapped him, exactly how she should have a few moments earlier. "How _dare _you!"

He staggered backwards, and Zabini and Nott laughed even harder, and Hermione half-shouted, "Don't include me in your petty games, Malfoy! Just _what _are you playing at?"

She didn't even wait for his reaction, didn't think twice of sending a minor hex or two wandlessly towards him, and turned away. Out the doors she went as red sparks flew in the air and angry magic crackled, into the blistering January cold, huffing in anger, incensed because she had just been terribly embarrassed. _Embarrassed _was an understatement, and it wasn't even because others had seen them kissing; as she made her way through the snowy slush, her cloak billowing in the wintry breeze, she _knew _her lips burned. She remembered. She remembered sixth year, and she remembered five minutes ago, and she felt tingles from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers, because the tingles were the same, both then and now.

"Oh, for the love of—" she muttered, ruffling her hair, her cheeks pink, "It's not as if I've never been _kissed _before!"

Because Hermione had been kissed a fair number of times—once even, by a famous Quidditch player. Ron constantly peppered her with _kisses, _and they'd even had several _spectacular _snogs every now and then. But here she was, practically _goo _after _sodding, effing_ Draco Malfoy kissed her a second time, who'd _only _kissed her now because it was all a dare. Flustered, because she was acting like she was seventeen again, dumbfounded because of the whole incident, and still clueless as to why he'd kissed her the first time which she'd conveniently forgotten until he kissed her _again_, and ashamed because she _liked _it, hang it all, she did, despite the fact that she was thrown into a tizzy by it and was supposedly _not _going around enjoying other men's kisses when Ron was the only one allowed to kiss her.

Ron and Harry hadn't arrived yet when it all happened; she had been the early one tonight, and if that really was a fortunate thing, she didn't know for certain. She had barely finished giving her order to Madam Rosmerta when there had been a tap on her shoulder and she had stupidly, distractedly turned. Malfoy stood there with a determined look on his face—and now she knew why he'd looked like that, that git—and licked his lips, and she opened her mouth to ask him what the matter was, and then in a whirlwind of events, he was on her.

Hands, lips, breath, taste, _Malfoy. _

It didn't help that she saw him almost every day now, considering the fact that they worked together at the Ministry—had been, for almost a year now, since he'd been assigned to her department. They were already getting on well, with warmer greetings and conversations that were thankfully void of any real malice. Hell, she liked him enough, a lot even, and they were probably even almost-friends. And now—now, he'd ruined all that and had to do _that_.

Oh, Merlin. If only Ron had been there!

"Granger, _wait._"

There was a thump in her heart and the sound of boots crunching snow behind her. Did he _have _to follow her out of the pub? Just when she was at the state of confusion and bewilderment and—and flutters_?_

She didn't turn to face him. Instead, she curled her fists and sniffed, "_What_, Malfoy?"

"Look, I—" She heard him shuffle his feet and sigh impatiently. She knew him well enough to know that he was nervous; he shuffled his feet whenever he was, along with wringing of fingers and extra deep frowns. "It was a dare, alright? No need to get your knickers in a twist. I wouldn't have done it otherwise, but if you must know—" There was more shuffling. "If you _must _know, I also just wanted to see something."

There he went again, being all cryptic and confusing. Hermione hated not understanding, and he knew that about her.

"What do you mean? And what is all this dare business about anyway? Aren't you a bit too old for that sort of thing? And why me?" She half-turned to face him, and in the light of the lamp post, she saw him scowl.

"You ask too many questions, Granger."

"Well, if you're not going to answer anything, I'll be happily on my way then, away from you, if you don't mind," Hermione said, "I'm bloody freezing, I'm no longer in the mood to meet with Harry and Ron, you've embarrassed me well and good tonight in front of your friends for a _dare, _it's only _your _luck Ron didn't see you do it because otherwise you'd be in St. Mungo's by now, you're a right _prat _for doing _that _and not telling me anything, so I'd really just rather forget—" And as she prattled on, she started walking away from him, suddenly all too tired in the flurry of emotions tonight. All she wanted now was to curl up in bed with a good book, maybe a glass of firewhiskey, in front of a fire, and—

"Oh for Merlin's sake—" There was stomping through the slush now, and he grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him. She looked up at him, defiantly, but he wouldn't have it at all, and her glare did nothing but have him tighten his hand around her arm.

"Malfoy, let me go—"

"I'm getting married, Granger."

"What?"

_What? _She still didn't understand what this all meant relative to _her, _of all people. So what if he was getting married?

"That's why there was a dare in the first place, alright? Tonight was an early bachelor's party of sorts." Malfoy explained, his gray eyes fixed on her. "I'm getting married in two months' time, and Blaise thought it would be a great idea to pick a girl in the pub tonight and have me plant a bloody snog on her. It just so happened that you were there, and—" At this point his fingers curled a fraction even tighter around her arm. "And _just—_you were _just_ there, alright?"

"There were at least a dozen other witches there, Malfoy! You couldn't have picked someone else? Couldn't you have chosen Madam Rosmerta or something? I mean—"

"I didn't want to kiss somebody else, I wanted to kiss _you, _Granger, alright?" He said loudly, irritably even, despite the fact that what he'd just said just floored her. Surely there was someone who merited being more kiss-worthy in the pub then, who was probably _not _her. But there it was; Draco Malfoy just admitted wanting to kiss _her_. Hermione _Granger_. Her mind was running in circles now and he'd gone and put her out of sorts. Because when he said that, the tingles were there, and her breath was caught in her throat.

Because when he said that, what did he _mean, _really? Marriage, kiss, _Granger—_why were they all in this conversation?

He was glaring at her now, as if this was all her fault. Then—

"You remember, don't you?"

"Remember what, exactly?"

"Sixth year." His eyes were piercing through her now, and she felt her face grow hot despite the cold. Of course she remembered. He knew that with one look at her face. He almost smiled. "Like I said, I wanted to see something, if it was still there."

"If what was still there?" For the love of Merlin, why was he being so difficult? She couldn't follow his words at all.

"Just something that resurfaced this year."

"Can you please stop being so vague, Malfoy?" She huffed. "I don't understand at all! What has this got to do with me, with—with _that _thing in sixth year, with this _something _you don't even want to tell me about? What is it? Tell me now, or so help me, I will—"

And for the third time in her life, for the second time that evening, Draco Malfoy pressed his lips onto hers, under the lamp post on a cold, empty street. And when he pulled away, his lips a breath away from hers, he whispered, "I fancy you, Granger. Thought it went away when I was sixteen, but here we are. I bloody fancy you, and I'm getting married."

Her breath hitched.

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**Author's Note:** I don't think I've ever used the word kiss more in another piece of work. Hahahaha. Anyway, let's see where this goes. Review?


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